


Proof of Love, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Enhances original, First Age, Other - Freeform, Subjects - Legends/Myth/History, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A matched pair of very short Melian vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof of Love, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The Chinese have a saying: "throw out a brick, in order to bring back a jade." I throw out this pair of tiny bricks in the hope that better writers than I will be provoked into writing about Thingol and Melian.

  


**The Proof of Love**

  


_Flesh_

  


Behold this Being, holy and divine, who was before the World, born of the thought of Eru alone. Her eyes have seen the glory of the face of the One; she has sung her part in the great Music, and her spirit has taken joy in the themes of the Music.

She lies on her back, legs spread wide apart, her hair sticky with sweat, her face contorted with pain. She is afraid, and clutches her husband's arm, squeezing it hard; her fingers dig into his flesh. _Push!_ A midwife--many ages younger than she--calls out in peremptory command. In her effort, she fights for each breath, gasping for air; blood and the water of her womb flow from her body, staining the bed. Neither wisdom nor power avails her in her ordeal.

The baby girl cries, her first cry in the world, the sound loud and strong, and the mother sinks back, faint with exhaustion and a deep, fierce joy.

  
  


_Blood_

  


They bring him to her upon a bier, and the Queen of Doriath kneels beside the body, weak with grief. Her tears fall fast and unrestrained upon his corpse, and she touches his wounds, kisses the pale lips. His blood stains her hands and dress red.

Her thought crosses the wide distance of years, and returns to Nan Elmoth, where out of the forest's shadows, this son of Middle-earth came walking toward her, under the starlit sky. The air about them were filled with the songs of nightingales, and he was young and ardent. And such a love sprang up in her heart, binding her to the flesh of Arda; from this strong bond of love came great power.

Bitter is the widow's bereavement, for she has lost her lover to a Thing of Light, and her child to a Man. No power, no wisdom lessens her pain, for this, too, is part and parcel of her love.


End file.
